Friday, March 29, 2013

It had never really been a
secret, He had written it into the very fabric of the universe. Night was
followed by day and winter by spring. Caterpillars changed into butterflies and
crops sprang up anew for another season of harvest. Death, that terrible dark
vacuum that sucked up all life, appeared to be sovereign on this mortal earth,
but it was only an appearance. To see the early bulbs thrust their way through
the lingering snow, or the new buds form on trees as dry as the weight of
years, was to see another story, hidden below the surface yet constantly
breaking out as if the joy beyond all things could not contain itself.

And so, in the fullness of
time, He came. He came unto His own and His own did not receive Him. They did
not know what to do with One who was both utterly one of them and utterly
different. They did not know what to do with such love that flamed forth from
Him in its purity, unmitigated by human doubt or confused self-interest. They
wanted His gifts, but they feared the One who gave them, for how can you
receive from such largesse and hold yourself aloof? Down the long centuries
they had struck their own cold bargain with death, a lifetime of power and
self-aggrandisement in the fleeting sunshine before the night descended.

So they bore him down to
death, unleashing all their anger and pain and hatred upon Him, and in their
fury they did not even notice that He was walking willingly along the path
where they were hounding him. For why would any man, whose days are so short
and whose cup is so bitter, run willingly to death, where there is no more
spring rain or sweet fruit upon the tongue? For the one thing they could never
imagine was that He was doing it for them.

But He did. He walked into
their darkness and became one of them. He who was light and lightness, and love
in its pure, unmitigated power, the Word who spoke worlds into being became
flesh, became powerless under the bludgeoning weight of their depravity. The
life who was the light of men fell, as one bound and helpless, into the void of
the everlasting darkness of death, and it seemed to those few who watched, with
their eyes befogged with tears, that death had swallowed up life, and had
dominion over Him.

No, it only seemed that way,
for just three days, for a mere flicker in the towering aeons of time. Then the
secret that had been whispered in creation for centuries was shouted aloud to
the furthest stars, and only humanity was deaf. The stone was rolled away and
Love emerged triumphant. And death was swallowed up in Life. There was
confusion, and disbelief, but underneath it, bubbling up like an unstoppable
fountain, was joy beyond words and glory past human containment. Judgement had
been assuaged, evil had been atoned, and there was nothing in all creation
outside of His mastery. The promise, whispered so long, was fulfilled, humanity
was restored, and He who had suffered was utterly victorious.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

It was hot out there on the
hillside, the afternoon sun was clear and strong, but none of them went looking
for shade. Instead, they leaned in closer, for nobody wanted to miss a word He
said. It had already been rumoured that He did not teach like the scribes and
Pharisees, but spoke with a unique authority, and for once rumour was an
understatement. They had never heard words like this before, and they strained
to hear as each phrase dropped into their minds like a stone into a lake,
making a distinct splash and leaving ripples of confusion behind.

“Blessed are the poor in
spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Wait .. what? Weren’t the
blessed ones those who were secure in both their worldly status and their
religious position, the ones who could look down on the rest and say, “Lord, I
thank you that I am not as ... these”? Had He turned things upside down?

“Blessed are they that mourn,
for they will be comforted.”

No, that couldn’t be right.
It was like saying, ‘happy are the unhappy’. And what sort of mourning did He
mean? There were so many things one could mourn for in this world, from
bereavement, to one’s own broken sinfulness. What did He mean?

“Blessed are the meek, for
they shall inherit the earth.”

At least that was somewhere
in the Psalms. But look, there march the Roman soldiers in their glittering
panoply, there stand the Pharisees displaying their piety on the street
corners. There wasn’t much room left for the meek, for those who refused to
grab for whatever power they could hold onto.

“Blessed are those who hunger
and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled”

This made a little more
sense, but still ... where did it leave those who were already full of
righteousness, the perfect keepers of the Law? Why wouldn’t they come first
when they tried so hard to be holy? They did not whisper to each other, for
they did not wish to miss a word He said, but the thoughts were buzzing in
their heads. Some were beginning to see a pattern, an undergirding truth, if an
unsettling one; others were still completely in the dark.

“Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.”

They could nod their heads at
this; it was certainly a beautiful thought. Most people think that mercy is a
good idea until they’re the ones that have to give it. But again, it would be
an upside down world when that actually took place!

“Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they shall see God.”

That was a tricky one, who
was pure in heart? Even Moses was only allowed to see God’s back, and how could
they compare themselves to him? No one except the blessed angels was holy
enough to behold the Lord!

“Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.”

Who were the peacemakers
then, in a world that always seemed to be at war? And yet, He was saying that
those who could make peace were the sons of God, the God-like ones. How did
anyone make peace in a world where defeat and attrition were always knocking at
the door? What did peace that lasted beyond this day’s sunshine and bread
enough for this day’s belly even look like?

“Blessed are those who are
persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“That may well be so”,
muttered one man, unable to restrain himself any longer, “for ‘tis certain
they’ll have no kingdom in this world!”

It was all madly
upside down, this Kingdom he preached of. It was a place where the losers were
the winners and the sinful were the saints; where the sad were the happy and
the nobodies were the rulers. It was
attractive, but also unsettling, perhaps even frightening, for it demanded
something more than the Law had ever asked, that the very deepest portions of
one’s inmost self should be put into the hands of God, to be turned inside out
and upside down, and be able to see the gladness in it. They trembled and they
wondered, for they did not yet know that it was God who would put Himself into
their hands, turning death into life and despair into hope. The upside down
Kingdom was far closer than they imagined.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

He had always been
a cautious man. He had no love of guesswork or speculation, and risk-taking
bothered him. He had accumulated his wealth by the blessing of abundant natural
increase, and he was careful correct and God-fearing in all that he did. Always
conscientious, he was perpetually scrupulous in his dealings with God and man,
and even made sacrifices on his children’s behalf, in case they, in the
carelessness of youth, should fall into sin and offend their maker. He was a
great man, the wealthiest in those parts, and had no idea how much that
irritated the envy of his friends. “Surely he couldn’t have got all this by
honest means?” they would wonder.

Secure in his safe
and upright life, he had no expectation of calamity. But there are things that
happen in realms beyond human knowledge or control which can directly affect a
man’s existence, and so it came to be. In a single day, all his wealth was
taken from him: seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke
of oxen and five hundred donkeys. And as if this wasn’t calamity enough, he
lost all his children: seven sons and three daughters, destroyed by a mighty
wind that blew the house down on top of them even while they feasted and drank.

Numb with horror,
he sought refuge in the rituals of grieving, tearing his robe and shaving his
head. They gave a structure to his pain, even as he reached out and clung
blindly to the God whose goodness he was still willing to declare. “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” he
cried out in his anguish, “Blessed be the name of the Lord!” He held on fast to
his belief in the goodness of God.

But worse was to
come – the affliction of his own body as well with painful sores from head to
toe. There was no place, sleeping or waking, in mind or in body, that he could
find any respite from his pain. Everything had come unraveled. Yet still he
held on. God was good. It was the only thing he had left.

Even his wife had
given up and told him to “Curse God and die!” But still he held on.

His friends came.
At first, overwhelmed by such calamity, they simply sat with him in his pain.
But when the first shock had passed, they began to wonder, and, human-like,
found dagger-sharp words to house their half-formed thoughts. If Job was
suffering so much, he must have done something to deserve it. They had always
suspected there was something wrong. What was the real reason God was punishing
him, they asked. Wasn’t it time to confess the truth? But he still held on. He
held fast to the goodness of God and his own innocence.

In the end it was
God who answered, overturning their petty, self-protective theologies with the
mighty wind of His Spirit. “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the
earth? Designed the stars? Crafted the uniqueness of each creature? Can you
comprehend the secret counsels of God?”

They were
overwhelmed by His majesty and wisdom, pierced to the heart by His truth. And,
stunned and broken with wonder, Job held on to the truth he knew. God was God,
and he was but a man, a finite man who had presumed to speak of things he knew
nothing of. “I had heard of You, I thought I knew You, but now I have glimpsed
something so much greater, I repent of my small, careful theology.”

And in the end he
knew that the God he had been trying to hold onto had in fact been marvelously
and lovingly holding onto him

Saturday, March 09, 2013

She could barely
see his face through her tears, but her fingers moved across it, almost without
thought, wiping away the blood, smoothing out the lines of pain. It was so long
ago that she had been warned that a sword would pierce her heart, and in the
glory of that youthful moment, bright as Springtime, she had willingly
acquiesced. She had not known then that swords were quite so sharp or pain so
bitter. She had not realized that one day she would hold the joy of her life
and the hope of the world – the only hope of the world – dead in her arms. But
now that the terrible moment had come, she would not turn away. She would wait,
as she had learned to wait, shrunken and battered by the pain, but still there,
tear-torn and broken, but still there, in the terrible darkness, waiting on the
revelation of God’s meaning.

Of course, this
wasn’t the first hurt, just the worst one. It seemed that, ever since the time
of Eve, to be a mother was to carry sorrow in your heart. To bear a child, to
love a child – this was to long for a perfection of understanding that does not
exist in this world, and to be made aware that your own love, however hard you
tried to shield and shelter, could never be enough. To be fulfilled, pressed
down and running over, and yet, at the same time, achingly unfulfilled, because
you discovered that the very act of birth, and taking your child into your
arms, was an act of letting go, for a child is not a puppet, possession or
plaything, but a separate human being, with their own destiny stamped upon
them. And if that was true of any child, how much more was it true of this
child?

From the beginning
he had been different. There was no fault in him, no valid cause for reproach,
but many moments of confusion. She would never forget the day when, a mere
twelve year old, he had turned to her and said, “Did you not know I must be
about my Father’s business?” as if it were the most normal thing in the world
for a child to dispute the meaning of the scriptures with the scholars in the
temple. There was no possible answer to his question.

Even in his early
adult years, when he was there by her side in Nazareth, she had known that he
wasn’t there to stay, and there were moments in his ministry when she had asked
herself (and sometimes him), “why does it have to be this way?” Loving him and
watching him taking enormous risks and walking forward into pain was like
putting her heart outside of her body, and watching, silently, while the world
attacked it and left it bleeding and torn.

And now this. He
was dead. Softly she lifted the crown of thorns from his brow, though it
pricked her fingers, and leaned down to kiss the lacerations. Part of her
wanted to hold onto this moment, to hold onto the only part of her son that was
left to her, but she knew that she could not. They must bury him swiftly,
before the sun set and the Sabbath began. She must let him go, down into the
depths of death, beyond human knowledge. But not, she believed, beyond the
knowledge of God. And only God knew what would happen next.

Saturday, March 02, 2013

They thought that stricter religion
was the answer. Their great question was to ask what their forefathers had done
that had so angered God, and never do it again. The logic seemed unassailable.
God had sent them into exile because they had broken the covenant, therefore if
they kept the covenant perfectly, their security in the Promised Land was
assured.

So they went back to the Law, hoping
to find a way to keep Torah more perfectly. If the Law was holy, then being
ever more zealous in its application must be even holier, yes? So they took the
words that God had once given, the words that defined holy obedience, and
analysed them endlessly under the microscope of their zeal to find safety and
security in this world. Before you can work the system, you have to determine
exactly what the system is. Did the Law say that you must not work on the
Sabbath? Then of course you must refrain from work at that time; but what is
work? Is it work when a tailor holds a needle? Is it work when a woman carries
a hairclip in her hair? If a man walks on the grass on the Sabbath day, is he
guilty of the work of threshing? Can a man defend himself on the Sabbath, or
cure the sick, or prepare food for the hungry? No, for these things would be
violations of the commandment.

How else could they keep the Law more
zealously? They became expert students of scripture, fasted twice a week, gave
of their money to charity and were evangelistic in spreading their faith. In
short, they had invented their own penitential system to make up for whatever
their forebears had lacked. They were going to show God how good they really
were, by doing far more than He had ever asked. In both sacrifice and obedience
they would be meticulous, and God Himself would have to applaud their
righteousness (or so they had persuaded themselves). Within the rigours of the
Law they walked in the sackcloth and ashes of these strict requirements. They
called themselves the ‘separated ones’, or, in Hebrew, the Pharisees. They
disdained to have any dealings with those who did not live up to their exalted
standards. They knew themselves to be very holy.

Then, in the fullness of time, there
came one who was truly holy, for He was without sin. He preached, and men
listened; He touched, and men were healed, and it didn’t matter what day of the
week it was. He frightened them, for at one and the same time, He proclaimed
the Kingdom of God, and broke many of their rules, without any apology. Worse,
He seemed to imply that their rules were wrong, and a stumbling block to truly
knowing God. Didn’t He know what God wanted, what they had so carefully worked
out? He refused their sackcloth and ashes and spoke of feasts and wedding
garments instead. He was even known to willingly spend time with prostitutes
and tax collectors, so how could he be a good man, they asked themselves,
intoning old proverbs about the dangers of bad company.

They never saw, they never
understood. Love Himself walked among them, and they were blind to His glory.
Love called them to His great dance, and they turned away, claiming it was
illegal to dance on the Sabbath. The brighter His radiance shone, the more
tightly they wrapped their sackcloth about themselves, and flung ashes in their
own eyes, lest they should be forced to see instead, and own their self-
manufactured virtues for the useless rags they were.

For what does God
desire of a man? To act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with his God.

About Me

Mother of two grown up kids,and very long time married, after many years as a full-time mum, then a part-time theological student I'm now trying to be useful in my local church whilst working out what the next step is.I'm passionate about Jesus, treasure the people in my life and dream of being a preacher. I'm a would-be poet, a slightly eccentric cook, and an INFP (which must explain something).
And I'm a pickle: a weird shaped lump of something-or-other, a bit salty, a bit sweet, definitely an acquired taste, preserved by the grace of God and trying to add a bit of flavour to the blandness of modern life.